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EXCERPT
JACKPOT - PLAYER'S
CLUB - TWO OF A KIND
JACKPOT
"Feeling lucky?"
Jack MacAllister smiled at his companion of one hour. "I'm
not a great believer in luck."
"Better not let the Vegas tourism folks hear you say that
or you'll have a date with a bus going straight out of town."
Actually, his only date for the evening had been a blackjack
table. Until she sat down. A sexy blonde blessed with a sweet
round face and the husky voice of a telephone sex operator. The
same woman wearing a big white wedding dress.
A rule probably existed somewhere that said harmless flirting
was not so harmless if the woman in question happened to be a
bride. Someone else's that is. But he wasn't ready to believe
this one even was a bride. Something about this lady's story
didn't fit. The attitude, the lack of excitement. The absence
of a groom...
If she weren't so damn sexy, he'd run for cover in any direction
that included a bar. But that wasn't happening.
About fifteen minutes ago she looked up at the big screen television
in the nearby betting area and started spewing out college football
statistics. Exactly ten seconds after that he fell deep into
lust. His ass hadn't moved since. If there was anything hotter
than a woman who knew about sports, well, he didn’t know
what it could be.
When she moved to the rows and rows of shiny flashing slot machines
and asked him to join her, he did. He even kept up the pretense
of polite conversation by wasting a hundred dollars in less than
fifteen minutes on slot play.
After all that time watching her, he still didn’t know
her story. He knew how her shoulder-length hair bounced against
her slim shoulders when she laughed. He knew how her grass green
eyes sparkled with excitement when the reels rolled her way.
He knew because his sorry ass had been stuck on the same uncomfortable
stool forever watching her nurse a twenty-dollar bill and eighty
credits.
But her wedding? The groom? Nothing. Not one word.
She didn't strike him as an obsessive nutcase who liked to dress
up in fancy gowns for fun. Of course, she didn't strike him as
a woman celebrating the best day of her life either.
She said something, but he lost the thread when a group of what
could only be described as Beautiful People stepped out of the
Bentley Hotel and Casino elevators squealing at a decibel level
he'd bet would shatter glass. The women, all with straight hair
and even straighter bodies headed for one of the many bars outlining
the gambling area.
"Very pretty. Your type?" She did some shouting of
her own to be heard over all that giggling.
"They look hungry to me."
"Haven't you heard? Thin is in."
His gaze returned to her companion and wandered over her petite
frame. She was compact, with full high breasts. Even under the
sharp yellow lighting he could see the healthy glow to her skin.
"Where do women get this crap?" he asked.
"From other women."
"You’re not going to blame men, the media and the
evils of advertising?"
"There's enough blame to go around, but women are the worst." She
looked past him. "Speaking of blame."
He looked over just in time to see a tourist dragging a suitcase
the size of a coffee table slam into a tall, useless-looking
guy in a tux. Casino employees dressed in burgundy blazers swarmed
the scene.
"That can't be good for business," she said.
"Alex has it under control." A low rumble of background
noise filled the air as men and women puffed on cigarettes and
grabbed up free booze as if security guards weren't engaged in
the equivalent of international peace talks in the middle of
the floor.
"Who?"
He shrugged. "Alex Mitchell. The Assistant Manager."
She shrugged right back in an exaggerated style that made him
laugh. "You visit enough to be on a first-name basis with
the guy who runs this place?"
"Let's just say Alex is the type to give a personal welcome
to frequent guests."
"Ahh, I get it. You're a high roller."
"I come here whenever I need to clear my head." Time
to steer the conversation to neutral ground. She didn’t
need to know about the size of his bank account or the huge decision
facing him back at the office. "With the new construction,
the shutting down of part of the pool deck and all the other
inconveniences that go along with expansion, Alex is doing everything
he can to keep the patrons happy."
"What construction?"
Not the most observant woman he'd ever met but certainly one
of the more attractive. The kind of attractive that translated
just as well in the bedroom as in every other room of the house.
"You didn’t notice the second tower going up right
behind this one? The big crane?"
"Uh, no."
"Guess you prefer indoor activities." He loved those
type of activities.
A bell started dinging behind him, reminding him there were
a few things about Vegas he didn’t love. Things he actually
hated. Specifically, slot machines. He despised all that ringing
and shrieking whenever anyone won a measly ten bucks.
"Maybe we should try another game. One that actually requires
a level of skill higher than picking lottery numbers," he
said.
"This machine is going to hit."
Since her eyes sparkled with hope, he almost hated to shoot
her down with the truth. He tried anyway. "I hope you’re
kidding."
"No, really, I can feel it. Gambling isn't usually my thing-"
"So, naturally, you came to Vegas."
She ignored him and rambled on. "I've been within inches
of hitting progressive a few times." She pointed at the
screen. "I just need the circle with the big B to land on
the line next time. It was just below the line last spin."
Great. A novice. "You know it doesn't work like that, right?
It's all chance. There's no skill involved. What happens one
spin has no bearing on what happens the next. It's all based
on a series of numbers-"
"Stop."
"But-"
"I'm as fiscally responsible as the next person. More so,
really, but this is different. Don’t ruin my fun." She
had one hand wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle and the
other gripping the slot pull as if she'd fall through the floor
without the thing to support her.
"You're right. I'm sure you're within inches of lifetime
financial security."
"That's better."
"Far be it from me to ruin your day with a little realism."
"Good man." She gulped down a mouthful of beer.
If she were going to pickle herself, he should at least have
some biographical information to tell the ambulance crew. "You
still haven't told me where your groom is."
She stopped in mid-swig. "You didn't ask."
Oh, he was sure he had. Twice. In between the part where he
imagined she was wearing skimpy pastel lingerie and the part
where he peeled them off her inch by mind-blowing inch. She ducked
the question both times.
PLAYER'S CLUB
"Just as I thought." An annoying tsk-tsking sound followed
the comment. "We have a good deal of work ahead of us."
At the sound of the bored female voice, Zach Jacobs stopped what
he was doing, which happened to be lying on his desk on top of
the hottest blonde waitress on the Vegas Strip. His companion wore
the Berkley Hotel and Casino cocktail uniform like a second skin.
She also made it clear not ten minutes before that he had a green
light for action, all he had to do was drive on through.
Then the nasty traffic cop entered the room.
The same one standing at his door clicking her tongue against
her teeth, creating one of the most annoying sounds on the planet.
The one talking to him, and not in the good way. The one most decidedly
not screaming his name out in ecstasy, despite his every effort
to the contrary.
Jenna Barrister. Erection killer.
He swiveled around in time to see Jenna walk in the room with
her black and thin white line striped suit, bare toned legs, sexy
shoes and...yep, there it was. A shiny metal clipboard.
Every time he looked at her, which was as often as possible, he
wondered how a woman so damn hot could be so fucking evil. He suddenly
had the urge to rip the eight-by-eleven thing out of her perfectly
manicured fingers and throw it out of the window. With any luck,
she'd dive out after it.
"The door was locked," he said, stating the obvious.
"I have a key," Jenna responded, oblivious to the obvious.
Fine. He'd be more clear. "Get out."
Demanding that Jenna leave was worth a try. He'd tried everything
else with her, but the hotel's outside consultant appeared to be
immune to everything he threw her way. His anger. His tantrums.
His flirting. He could understand her not falling at his feet the
minute he turned on the charm but, come one, would it kill her
not to laugh when he tried to make a move?
"I'm not ready to leave yet," she said as she walked
around the small room, scowling at the piles of paperwork scattered
on the floor.
She came to a halt right beside the desk. Without looking up,
he could see her lean, tanned legs.
"This is private." He tried to get up, but his arms
and legs wouldn’t move. It was as if the sound of Jenna's
husky voice and unexpected visit froze him in place.
His companion wasn't exactly jumping up either. Anika whatever-her-last-name-was
lay under him like a rag doll, her eyes big and her mouth hanging
open.
Jenna squatted down until she was eye-level with his desk and
the tiny space between their bodies. The space where his withering
erection happened to be. "Interesting."
"Happy you think so. Now, get out."
"I mean, it's interesting you decided to have sex with a
member of the staff right on top of my memo which specifically
outlines how you are not to have sex with the staff."
"You've sent fifty memos in the month since you got here.
If I read them all, I wouldn't have time to cook."
"Twelve, and I've been here three weeks and four days." She
scribbled something down on her notepad.
"Guess it only feels like fifty," he mumbled as he tried
to see whatever it was she found important enough to write down.
"Do you have sex on top of all of my memos? If so, I can
ask your staff to read them to you before they put them on your
desk."
"I..." That was it. Nothing else came to him. Probably
had something to do with her saying "staff" repeatedly.
"Some would consider your conduct, shall we say, ballsy."
Staff. Balls. The woman needed a new vocabulary. "You think
that-"
"Or maybe she doesn't work here." Jenna's gaze wandered
over what she could see of Anika, which wasn't much since he was
plastered against the stunned woman from thigh to shoulder. "Is
she just borrowing a staff uniform for a role-playing sex exercise
perhaps?"
She needed to stop saying staff or his head would explode. "If
you would just leave-"
"At least your clothes are still on." She started scribbling
again. "For now."
"Do I get points for that? If so, write that down. I want
all the credit I can get."
"Not really. Probably just a slowness issue on your part.
If I had come in three or four minutes later the clothing likely
would be elsewhere. On the floor maybe?"
Slow? Now she was knocking his technique. The woman could destroy
a mood faster than a story about dead cats. "How can I put
this? Yeah, let's try this: get the hell out of my office!"
"Thank you, but no." She leaned in and tapped the tip
of her pen against Anika's shoulder, making the poor woman yelp
in surprise. "And you are?"
Anika's gaze flew back and forth between them. "Uhh...I'm..."
"That's none of your business." He shifted up to his
elbows. He would have gotten off the desk but Jenna's hovering
made that impossible. He had to stay where he was or risk landing
on Jenna, tempting as that was. "And while you’re at
it, get out."
"Still no." Jenna cleared her throat.
"What do I have to do to get rid of you?" He really
wanted to know what he had to do to get her under him, but he wasn't
about to ask that question.
"Do you know her name?"
Anika stared at him. Stared at Jenna. Stared at the ceiling. Then
she burst into tears.
"Now look what you did." Jenna patted Anika's head,
likely because that was the woman's only visible body part other
than her breasts.
"Me? What did I do?" He hadn't done anything. Hadn’t
had time. That was kind of the point.
"Isn’t it obvious?" Jenna turned her attention
back to Anika. "He can’t be that bad at this. He actually
has quite the reputation as a ladies man. That's why I'm here."
"To kill my reputation?" he asked.
"To eliminate your sexual escapades."
"Wait a minute."
"Or is the problem that he's crushing you?" Jenna looked
at Anika then frowned at him. "Maybe you should get off the
nice lady."
"Jenna."
"Yes?"
"Don’t push me."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Sure. I can be accommodating. Take your time." She
tapped that pen against her clipboard. "I'll wait."
She wanted to watch? "What?"
"Really, how long can this take?" She looked at the
skinny watch on her wrist. "Six, maybe seven, minutes?"
"Jenna-"
"I can sit over..." she turned around in a circle, taking
in every inch of the room, "well, there really isn’t
a place to sit. This place looks more like a men's locker room
than an office."
"Jenna!"
"I'll look out the window. Go ahead. Finish up."
"Have you lost your mind?" He had. No question. Whatever
brain cells he had this morning were long gone. Scared off by Jenna
and her man-killing tactics.
"You're right. I have other things to do."
"Scare small animals, perhaps?"
"I'll give you a half hour to do whatever it is you have
planned here," she waved her hand in the air in a dismissive
gesture that killed whatever was left of his libido, "then
you really need to get off this young woman and get back to work."
TWO OF A KIND
Caroline Rogers leaned down and did the one, possibly only, act
prohibited in all of Las Vegas. She dipped her toes in one of the
blue tiled whirlpool baths in the decadent new spa of the Berkley
Hotel and Casino.
The spa sat in the wing connecting the hotel to the new tower
currently under construction. When the place opened, Berkley would
house the largest and most exclusive facilities for high-end clientele
on the Strip.
That's why she was here. To write her travel report about how
the good folks staying and working at Berkley coped with the inconvenience.
Berkley's patrons weren't exactly known for accepting vacation
adversity.
Technically, her alter ego Veronica Hampton would get the credit.
Being a hotel critic required anonymity. Her Veronica life provided
that.
She imagined the visit on the flight here. During every minute
of the car ride from the airport. Lounging in a thick terry cloth
robe while spa attendants buffed, scrubbed and otherwise pampered
her into liquid form. There would be free spritzer drinks and herbal
teas. Miles of toiletries to test. Stacks of the hippest magazines
to read. All followed by a cleansing shower in a stall with massaging
jets aimed at every inch of her tired body.
If her temporary secretary back at the office could read a calendar
or schedule a simple job without messing it up, all of that relaxation
would have been hers. Instead, she arrived a week too early and
had to depend on the desperation of an underpaid maid to bribe
her way into the spa.
She'd put it all in her review. Provide management with a peek
into both her view of the spa and the willingness of the staff
to bend the rules. Sure, she benefited from the bending, but that
did not matter. The rules were the rules. Everything went in the
article.
She tightened the clip holding her long auburn hair on top of
her head. Adjusting the knot holding the thick terry cloth towel
around her body, she waded in the pool. Therapeutic heat warmed
her limbs as the water inched up her calves, then thighs, then
brushed against the bottom edge of the towel.
Fragrant steam filled her head as skin turned dewy and warm. Thanks
to the scheduling snafu, for the moment all this belonged to her.
She planned to enjoy every last indulgent second of it. She figured
she had a half hour to play before she needed to check out the
hotel's hot restaurant for dinner.
She opened the towel and prepared to sink her fatigued body down
into the water.
Then a brusque male voice cut through her off-key humming. "What
are you doing in here?"
Arms wide open and every imperfect inch of her naked body on display,
half standing and half crouching, Caroline froze in place. Her
body flushed with heat from head to foot as embarrassment flooded
through her.
In a flash she looked at him, saw him staring back at her breasts,
and snapped the towel closed. Yanking on the edges, she tried to
cover as much skin as possible. Every time she tugged from above
she showed too much below, fumbling and pulling until finally doubling
over to hide her body from the stranger's view.
"Wow," he said.
The way his gaze wandered down her body and back up again had
her stuttering. "I, ummm, what are you doing?"
"You shouldn’t be in here," he said, too busy
looking at her legs to give her eye contact.
"Can you leave?" So she could wrestle with the suddenly
too-small towel in private.
This time he looked at her face with a sappy male grin plastered
across his lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You can’t be in here." Never mind the fact she
didn’t know where the guy was allowed to be. She just knew
where she wanted him somewhere else.
The man in the expensive navy blue suit, ocean blue tie and matching
intense eyes held his hands out in front of him in a calming gesture
that was anything but. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She crossed hands, fingers, toes – whatever extra limbs
she could think of – over every private body part not covered
by white towel. "As if I'd take your word on that."
His smile turned from sensual to friendly. "We have a misunderstanding."
Nightmare was the word he was searching for. "Not if you
leave now."
"I won't come any closer but-"
"You’re damn right you won't." Yeah, that was
better. Anger. A little frustration. A dab of attitude. No panic.
She couldn’t show fear.
A muscle twitched in his cheek at her turn from fear to pissed,
but he didn't say a word.
Smart man. Right now she'd probably drown him if he uttered one
stinking word. Amazing what a little adrenalin pumping through
the veins could do for an otherwise terrified woman. "Turn
around and keep your hands where I can see them."
"Why would I?"
"Because I'm naked."
"I know." That gaze went traveling again.
"Eyes up here." She pointed at her face. "Now if
you'd face the back wall, I'll get myself together and get out
of here."
He actually looked like he had to consider the request. After
a delay lasted five seconds longer than forever, or felt like it,
he gave her a slow and reassuring nod. "Whatever you want."
The staring didn’t stop. He watched her face, but that gaze
bounced down the towel and up again a few times. And no turning
around.
"How about you do it now," she said less as a suggestion
than an order.
"Damn. Sorry."
Took forever but he finally turned around and faced the wall.
The move didn’t help one bit. Her capri pants, aqua sweater
and underwear where on the hook off to his right. To get to her
clothes she had to go through him, and that just was not going
to happen.
"I have a suggestion," he said.
A smooth warm voice. Probably hid the psyche of a serial killer.
"Shhh." She needed to think. She always worked better
with clothes on. That fact wasn't exactly known to her until right
this second, but now she knew. The more clothes she had on, the
more in control she felt. Good to know.
Despite the warm water lapping against her legs, a shiver ran
through her body. She guessed fear and uncertainty were the culprits.
Probably explained her puckered nipples, too.
At least she hoped so. Scary situations didn’t turn her
on. Whatever people needed, fine, but that wasn't her thing. 'Tho
a nice firm butt and broad shoulders like pair this guy possessed
had been known to turn her head. Sometimes all the way around.
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